


The Oops

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angry England, Complete, Eggs, Funny, Light Angst, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 18:23:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12488000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: After a drunk night on the town, Ivan wakes up with more than a headache.





	1. Chapter 1

Ivan woke up groggy with a pounding head ache. He appeared to be naked, sprawled on the shag carpet of a small bedroom. He'd never been in this place before, as far as his memory could recall. Stray beams of sunlight danced through sheer curtains, burning his eyes.

There was soft snoring, and the Russian dared a glance to his right. A tanned arm lead up a well muscled shoulder. That was connected to the freckled face of a sleeping American. Fuck. Why did drunk escapades always happen with this fool? It probably had something to do with the empty bottles of everclear scattered around Ivan currently. Despite over a century of vodka abuse, it seemed he never got used to this stuff.

Ivan briefly considered waking the naked American draped shamelessly across the child sized bed. It really wasn't worth it with this crushing hangover. Alfred's voice would probably sound like scraping metal right now. Sitting up with great difficulty, he clutched his head and evaluated the situation. Judging from the books scattered about, this was a young boy's room. Feeling quite gross and tacky, Ivan gathered that drunk sexy nonsense had occurred.

He peeked down the hall beyond the door, discovering smashed up walls and a trail of mixed clothing. Gathering the clothes, he explored until a bathroom was found. At this point there was so much damage done to the property. The Russian wasn't concerned about borrowing hot water too. After a fast shower and stealing several painkillers, Ivan didn't feel dead anymore.

The only good thing about the situation was his clothes still being clean. Standing over Alfred's still snoozing form, Ivan was rather displeased. Not only was the younger nation mostly clean, but there was an unused condom in the American's pant pocket. Ivan definitely bottomed if that was the case, which was usually a huge no. Now Ivan had to deal with that upcoming mess.

Wanting to beat the life out of Alfred, Ivan begrudgingly acted with chivalry. He dumped the sleeping man in the bath tub and ran a cold shower. With a painful shriek, a gasping American came back to life. 

“What... Where... Why is it so fucking cold?” the honey blonde blurted out, disorientated and shivering. “That's what you get for not using a condom, filthy American.” Ivan cursed, making Alfred stay in the freezing torrent a little longer. “Condom... what? My head hurts so much. No more everclear ever again. I think I died...” Alfred whimpered, finally allowed to crawl out of the tub.

After helping Alfred get dressed, the pair shuffled into a trashed living room. The couch was flipped over, decorative pillows tossed around. Red, white, and blue spray paint was on everything. Sloppy renditions of Russian and USA flags ranged from the ceiling to the floor. Judging from a scattered newspaper, they were the Russian city of Pushkino. How they got here from the conference hall near Red Square was a total mystery.

Alfred's phone was smashed to bits, so Ivan used his. “Who ya callin'?” Alfred drawled, eating food from a kitchen off to the side. “Clean up squad. I need to get this dealt with before work notices anything.” Ivan informed flatly, actually quite worried. He didn't want to be chewed out again for another 'incident'. Last week Ivan punched a Latvian representative in the face, so he was already on thin ice.

Finishing the quick call, the Russian explored the rest of the house. Ivan grimaced, discovering the inhabitants of this place. Seven people had been apparently locked in the windowless basement with nothing but a pack of smokes and some cookies. He really hoped the citizens could be bribed into silence.

After waiting twenty minutes for clean up crew to arrive, Alfred stopping fidgeting beside Ivan and headed to the open front door. “I'm... uh, gonna go. If either boss hears about this, or anything we did, I'm super dead.” Alfred admitted, just as nervous as Ivan about all this. “I understand. Until we meet again.” the Russian bid goodbye, pretending to be calm.

The second Alfred left, Ivan started chewing his nails anxiously. He could only intimidate the right people and hope this would all blow over.


	2. Chapter 2

Between bribery, fear, and an efficient clean up crew, No one ever found out about Ivan's latest drunk adventure. They didn't happen often, thankfully. The last one had been rather tame, with Ivan waking up on the roof of a furniture store. He still couldn't recall much about that evening.

Two months passed by without event, and Ivan rarely had bad days. In fact, he felt almost... happy. It really was a strange sensation to be so giddy upon waking up. Perhaps he was losing his mind again? No one had been maimed or punched in a long time, so it wasn't insanity. Either way, this lightness of spirit felt fantastic.

It was nearly march, and winter refused to release it's death grip on the land. As he was about to leave his home, he felt the strangest discomfort. Ivan was shivering, as if he was cold. He didn't get cold, not normally. He was hungry too, alarmingly so. It was the reason he had to go out today. He had eaten everything in the house, even the canned pickled fish.

Putting on a furry ushanka and knitted mittens, Ivan forced himself to brave foul weather. He really needed food, like right now. Driving to the local market, Ivan was a hot mess by the time he parked the black Lada. Suddenly, the snow squall weather was a relief against internal heat. His own incurable hunger drove him onward. After buying four more bags of groceries than he normally required, It was time for a trip to the separate produce store next door.

The apple display inside was alluring, some Chinese species apparently. Without a second thought, he selected a large pile for purchase. Ignoring the rest of the food in the store, he rushed to pay for it. He had never desired to eat an apple so badly in his long long life. He must be losing his mind after all.

As soon he was back in the car, he plucked an apple from the plastic bag he brought from home. It was so red, and juicy looking. He bit into the doomed fruit eagerly. Another apple soon followed, then another. Ivan wiped his face with napkins from the glove box, answering his cell phone. “Hello?” he greeted in sing song, enamoured by the perfect sweetness of apples.

“You sound... happy.” his boss greeted skeptically. “Sir, have you ever tasted an apple? Really tasted it? It's so...” Ivan gushed, moaning at the end. He grabbed another apple, biting into it. So perfect right now. “So I was talking to your psychologist. You haven't really been yourself. You aren't... upset by anything are you?” his normally confident boss asked gently. The poor man had seen the extent of Ivan's 'crazy' moments, taking them quite seriously.

“No, I'm... just so happy I could cry sir. I've been so caught up with work, but I promise I'll finish it. After... oh... oh fuck this apple is so amazing. I need to bake a pie. Six pies.” Ivan rambled while eating, followed by a high pitched manic laugh. He really needed apple pie now. This absolute second, to be truthful. His world would end without them.

“So... You can take a week off. Bake all the pies you want, okay?” his boss ordered, sounding scared on the other end. “I can be so loyal sir, If you want I could... could... I don't know... why don't I know?” Ivan started crying in frustration, forgetting why he was at the store completely. “I'm going to hang up now.” his boss warned, then the line went dead. He really was losing it, wasn't he?

Suddenly horribly upset, Ivan returned home as fast as he could. Hauling all sixteen bags of food into the house, he put everything away. He tried to think of what to cook, but he couldn't stop feeling sweaty and disgusting. He dialed a number angrily, pacing in his kitchen.

The grouchy voice of America answered “Who the fuck calls me at two in the morning?”

“America, I require apple pies. You make passable apple pies and I need six right now.” Ivan demanded, time zones be damned. “No fuckin' way commie.” the groggy nation denied, audibly yawning. “Pies, or I turn New York into a radioactive crater, my sunshine.” Ivan threatened in sickeningly sweet tone. He needed those pies, badly. He didn't understand why, and he didn't question it in the least.

“Uh... you all there bud?” Alfred questioned hesitantly. Ivan grew angry, surprising himself with the speed of these mood shifts. “I could destroy the world if I wanted to, it could be so easy.” the Russian snarled, having to stop his manic pacing. These damn stomach cramps were becoming quite bothersome. “So... I suddenly decided I'm going to make those pies. Don't blow up Japan or anything... 'kay?” Alfred replied, sounding much more alert. Ivan hung up, pleased.

In roughly ten hours, the best apple pie on the planet would be his. Of course, he'd never tell the cocky American. Alfred's ego would grow to hideous proportions otherwise. Ukraine could make a fantastic peach pie, but that apple was something else entirely. Ivan curled up with a book and three bags of chips, waiting patiently on the couch by the window.

00000

A loud banging tore Ivan from dreams of baked goods. He was so hungry it hurt. Maybe he was going into a small famine. Famines tend to drive him well off the deep end. More banging came from the front door. “Let me in you crazy fucker! It's cold out!” the unsophisticated yell of Alfred filtered in. Ivan walked over to the door, almost dancing with joy. He loved visitors, contrary to popular belief.

Alfred stomped in, arms laden with apple pies sealed by plastic wrap. “I brought pies. Please don't blow up New York.” the honey blonde greeted gruffly, clearly unhappy to be here. Ivan set he pies on the counter in the kitchen, then impulsively fawned over his guest.

Ivan hummed as he brushed snow off tanned freckled skin. Alfred looked mildly uncomfortable, not having something to say for once. Taking off the American's winter clothes, Ivan fussed with stray strands of hair until everything looked perfect again. “What are you doing?” Alfred asked, looking concerned. “I... don't know?” Ivan wondered out loud.

Grabbing a cold apple pie, Ivan returned to the little nest of blankets and pillows on the couch. He silently began scarfing it down. Sweet sweet apple pie satisfaction. It was worth being ten hours late and unheated. Looking smug, Alfred bragged “You really like my apple pie, huh? Explains why every time you get drunk, we end up –”

“Finish that sentence and I'll shoot you in the leg.” Ivan growled, flashing the gun holster on his hip. “So you're a little touchy today.” Alfred noted sarcastically. The Russian grunted in affirmation, half a pie already gone. “What did your boss do to piss you off?” the honey blond asked with ease, sitting in plush arm chair.

“He's scared of me. I don't know why... I was just trying my best. I can't help being upset!” Ivan admitted, feeling emotionally overwhelmed. “Why does everyone have to be so afraid of me? I love having friends. It makes me want to kill them all because it's so frustrating!” the Russian continued, starting to sniffle again. He grabbed tissues from his improvised little nest, blowing his nose loudly.

“Wow okay. You are totally insane right now.” America mumbled to himself. “ **I AM NOT! I CAN'T HELP BEING ITCHY THEN COLD, AND SOMETIMES HOT! HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF BEING UNSTABLE WHEN YOU KEEP LOSING MISSILES OVERSEAS!** ” Ivan roared, completely losing his cool.

“Holy shit, I didn't sign up for this.” Alfred whispered, sinking further into his chair. He sat up a second later, blue eyes bright. “Dude, I think you're sick!” the honey blonde stated loudly. Ivan was about to start a new tirade of fury, when he paused. “I... cannot get sick.” Ivan protested softly, unsure. “You were cold. You never get cold. You have ice and children's tears for blood.” Alfred repeated Ivan's own words, somehow making them retarded. He did have a good point though.

“I am not sick.” Ivan insisted stubbornly, pulling apart a section of his blanket nest so he could hide under it. Looking away a second, Alfred managed to get close. He placed a cool hand on Ivan's skin, pulling it back sharply. “You totally have a fever!” the American exclaimed. “I'm fine. I only need apple pie.” the Russian deflected, looking sadly at his empty pan. He was so hungry. Those pesky cramps weren't letting up either.

Whistling something annoying, Alfred disappeared. He returned with a bag of ice and another pie. Eyeing the pie like a ravenous predator, Ivan stopped hiding under the blankets. The American wisely handed the dessert before his hand was ripped off. “So what makes a Russia sick?” the fool wondered out loud, putting bag of ice on Ivan's head. Between cooling off and the pie, Ivan was rather grateful.

“You're all about the oil, so maybe prices are wacky.” the idiot mumbled, browsing his phone. “New phone?” Ivan asked between bites. “Yeah, after last time, my boss got mad. Made me replace it with my own cash. It's okay, I got a totally bitchin' model. See?” Alfred showed it off proudly as he talked. The back of the device was American flag themed with all the stars being shiny white.

Ivan rolled his eyes and continued eating pie. “Yours isn't any better, Mr. Tricolour.” Alfred huffed, offended. After Ivan's pie was done, the cramping finally stopped. Exhaustion hit him hard, completely unexpected. Getting up with wobbly steps, the Russian tried to make it upstairs. Making it to the base of the stairs, he looked up wearily. He was definitely not going to make it.

Leaning against the wall, Ivan gazed at Alfred with violet eyes. Too proud to ask, but too tired to climb the stairs, the ash blond hoped America would take the hint. He didn't. “Why you standing at the bottom, go up already.” Alfred ordered bluntly. The Russian glared at him, then shook his head in disappointment. It was taking him everything just to stand. Giving up for the time being, Ivan sat on the floor before he fell.

“Are... you too tired to climb stairs? How much did you smoke?” Alfred asked incredulously, adjusting those cute glasses of his. They were the one part Ivan really liked. He was total sucker for glasses, and freckles. “You are an idiot.” the ash blond murmured, stifling a yawn.

Unexpectedly, Ivan was scooped up bridal style and carried up the stairs. “Holy shit you've gained weight, did you eat an entire horse?” Alfred complained, in Ivan's room quickly. “You have no right to complain, burger lover.” the Russian hissed, still feeling unhinged. “Hey, I like my all beef patties.” the American teased shamelessly, wiggling his eyebrows. Ivan rolled his eyes but didn't comment.

Dumped on the bed. Ivan didn't bother undressing as he snuggled under the covers. The ice bag from down stairs returned, much to the Russian's relief. Another pie was placed on the night stand. “You can be so sweet when you are not being stupid.” Ivan purred, basking in all this positive attention. “Fuck you. To think I was going to have sex with you, jerk.” Alfred retorted.

“Hmm, I would not be opposed to such activities.” the ash blond flirted, violet eyes half lidded. Alfred blushed, still a child at heart. “Seriously? Even though you're sick and... well, okay! Awesome! Yeah! I'll go get the lube!” the honeyed blonde cheered, bolting off. “Only one condition.” Ivan whispered sweetly, beckoning his partner closer. Alfred came closer, within arms reach.

Ivan grabbed the American by the throat, grip tight. “ **Use a condom or I will kill you.** ” the Russian growled, eyes aglow with murderous intent. After a few seconds, he released the rapidly paling nation. Resuming a lustful mood, Ivan smiled. Coughing for air, Alfred stammered “Christ you're insane... but totally hot right now. Let's do this.”


	3. Chapter 3

After sticking around for a few hours the next morning, Alfred had to move along. He was supposed to be in Luxembourg for a public relations stunt of some kind. Ivan had entirely different plans. Arms wrapped around his seasonal lover, the Russian held on stubbornly as they cuddled in bed.

“I have a flight in an hour and a half. I'm not even supposed to be here!” Alfred protested. “I do not care, stay and play with me.” Ivan murmured in husky voice, fondling the American's half hard cock. “That's... not fair. How can you still be... that tickles! Gah!” the honey blonde squeaked as Ivan ducked under the covers and fooled around. Of course that stupid patriotic phone had to ring.

Alfred answered it, grunting in greeting. “No s-s-sir, I'll be there soon, I'm just... um... holy fuck.” he sputtered a beat later, devolving to a groan as Ivan started sucking his eager member. Not letting up in the least, the Russian used every trick he knew. In no time at all, Alfred was a wordless mess. Ending what sounded like an angry call prematurely, the American turned off the device. 

“That was dirty, Vanya. I'm gonna pound you into the mattress.” Alfred threatened, eyes dark with predatory lust. Making a sound of contentment, Ivan continued to tease and push the boundaries. The sex was mind melting if his lover was driven mad enough with desire.

Alas, forty minutes later, the fun had to come to an end. Ivan was sated and sleepy, while Alfred was a boneless pile beside him, panting as if he had run a marathon. “You're so fun when you're sick.” the honey blonde whispered, wearing a dopey grin. The Russian hummed, equally pleased. Sighing, his bed mate sat up and started locating all of his clothes. Too lazy to move, Ivan gestured at a card on the nightstand. “Use that taxi service. No other will get you to the airport in time.” the ash blonde ordered more than offered.

Looking at the Cyrillic labelled card, Alfred hesitated. “This is a government service. Your boss might figure it out.” he commented, unsure. “Both our bosses will know if you don't arrive in Luxembourg by noon. I will call the line if you are so scared, little America.” Ivan joked sharply in his dark way.

Truthfully, no one but a very traumatized Canada knew they were hooking up regularly. Ivan's obviously unhealthy relationship wasn't questioned, mostly because it made him happy. So little brought joy to his cold heart these days.

Calling Ivan's personal line to the government, he ordered a car show up for diplomatic reasons. Such an excuse had been used before, and didn't raise any suspicions. Bundled in Cheburaska pajamas and a knitted blanket, Ivan escorted Alfred to the door after his lightning fast shower. “Do not say anything in the car. Do not smile. They do not know you are American. Leave this tip on the seat when you get to the airport.” Ivan explained for the sixth time in a deadpan manner.

“Omigod, I know the drill. Don't make me wear that stupid hat again.” Alfred scoffed as Ivan fussed over him at the door. “It is a ushanka, and it is as practical as it is fashionable.” Ivan argued. “It's fugly, and it feels like wearing a tiny furnace.” Alfred protested. “Is it not good to keep a lover warm?” Ivan purred. Alfred blushed slightly, always partial to compliments.

On that high note, Ivan pushed him out the door and slammed it shut. The dork would be fine waiting ten whole minutes outside. Shuffling back to bed, The Russian yawned and arranged the blankets just right around himself. Pleased, he finally allowed himself to nap.

00000

Two days crawled by painfully, and Ivan finally conceded that he was sick. Wincing from the worst lower abdomen pain possible short of being cut open, Ivan considered his options. Since he punched Latvia's boss, that country was out of the question. Most of his former states wouldn't answer the phone, let alone help him. Not that they could be trusted to do anything properly anyways.

That left his sisters, and... 

Ivan was mentally stumped to think of anyone that didn't hate his guts. America probably liked him, but the nation had already come to his aid once this week. The USA president would just get suspicious from another visit, blowing their cover.

Since Belarus was more insane than him, she was definitely not an option. Swallowing nervously, Ivan dialed the phone. After four rings, Ukraine's happy voice was heard. “Hello, who is this?” she greeted. “Hello big sister.” Ivan answered quietly. He took a deep breath, clutching his aching gut. “O-oh um, hello, brother. It has been a long time... this isn't about the NATO council, is it? Because I'm an ind-d-dependant nation now.” She stammered, scared. The tears were not far off already.

“I require help... Katya. I am sick.” Ivan appealed, trying out her name for the first time in years. “You are sick? Are you certain it is not famine?” Ukraine reasoned, using the same line of logic as Ivan had. “No, I have fevers and itches, and great pain. I have been this way for some time.” he explained tersely, feeling on edge.

“Oh little brother, I will see what I can do. I must call my boss first.” Katyusha instantly volunteered, sounding quite determined. “No really, You don't need to call him. Perhaps you have soup recipes or cures that could assist.” Ivan suggested, knowing damn well what his sister's boss was going to say. The line went dead. She never listened to a damn thing did she?

Ivan waited five minutes, then caught her call back. Naturally, she was in full cry baby mode. The Russian cringed as his sibling talked. “I am so sorry little Vanya. He won't let me help. He didn't even want me calling you back.” she cried, voice wobbly. “I will sleep it off. Do not worry.” he dismissed. “I tried to convince him, but he was very –”

The line went dead again. Ivan was shocked at how fast the Ukrainian government had located his sister's phone and remotely terminated it. Before they took at least a minute. Their tech department was really getting caught up with the times. He was alone in his vile suffering. Ivan supposed he deserved it for being a monster, not that he felt terribly guilty.

Walking seemed to be crippling level of pain, but kneeling on the bed was okay. He distributed his weight evenly on spread legs. It was almost like his insides were shifting and being arranged. The urge to push came suddenly, and he obeyed it wholeheartedly. Grabbing his metal and wood headboard with white knuckled grip, he tried to expel this pain physically.

It seemed to be working, the source of near blinding agony moving lower within. He could be rid of this hell after all! Inspired, he took to alternating deep breathes and pushing. Between profusely sweating and whatever he refused to look at below him, the dirty pyjamas were becoming an issue. He kicked and thrashed the last of his clothes off violently fast, desperate to return to his task.

It was an eternity of hell and white hot pain. Ivan was sure getting cut open was more fun. He could feel something almost gone but his lower back and ass felt like they were about to tear open. Barely holding on, he trembled and shrieked primal sounds that weren't words anymore.

Then it was over. The pain remained but it was a mere shadow of seconds before. Ivan fell to his side, turned to rubber. Gasping for air, he rolled over to see what tried destroying him from the inside. Lights from the bathroom cast shafts of pale yellow into the dark bedroom.

It was covered in a few faint splotches of Ivan's own blood, but it was otherwise clean. It was a white egg with faint red and blue speckles. He had apparently just laid an egg. It was large too, slightly oblong and the size of a bowling ball.

Compulsively, he touched it. It was warm and solid feeling. It was... his. Ivan felt himself starting to cry, euphorically relieved. It was over and this egg was his, and for some irrational reason, he couldn't be more pleased. His whole world just seemed brighter. He was a mother... somehow, and he couldn't be more proud.

Through sheer maternal desire, Ivan dragged his tired and battered body to the washroom. Cleaning himself up with a shower, He discovered some of the damage his lower end had survived. He didn't want to look at it, the water pooling around the tub drain tinted pink. Clean enough, he ate five painkillers at once, and chugged water straight from the tap.

Now for the oddity he seemingly produced. Dressing in fresh new pyjamas, he used the ruined blanket to gently wipe the egg clean. Changing all the bedding, Ivan lovingly draped an electric blanket around the new center of his universe. All the pillows in the house were bunched around that, a fluffy barrier to prevent movement or heat loss. Setting the electric blanket to a pleasant temperature, the Russian was pleased. He immediately passed out from physical exhaustion, goal accomplished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what you see? Comment or leave a kudos!


	4. Chapter 4

Bright daylight danced over his eyelids. Ivan groaned, feeling like he had fought a war and lost. Everything ached, screaming when he moved. This was not what woke him up. “Big brother! I have come to affirm my love for you!” Belarus called out in loud song, echoing from near the kitchen.

He really didn't have time for this charade. A second of terror gripped him, realizing what had happened last night. The egg! He located it frantically beside him, ignoring inhuman pain to peel a few pillows away. Beneath, his new pride and joy was intact and still pleasantly warm. A sigh of relief shuttered out of his weary form.

“Are you asleep big brother? I looove you sooo!” the voice of his misguided sister called out again, extremely close. The bedroom door creaked open eerily, her slim form behind it. Long ash blonde hair framed an insane smile, A strict black dress clinging to her feminine figure. With a skirt nearly to the floor, she probably had a whole cutlery set in hiding. “Natalya. You invited yourself in I see.” Ivan grumbled, too worn out to be scared. He was in no condition to run as it was.

“How could I not dearest big brother in all the world? I love you! Let us be married!” she crooned. “I cannot, I am busy this day.” he dismissed, not sounding as strong as he would like. “What obstacle falls in the path of our destiny? I will destroy it!” she uttered venomously. No. The egg, she couldn't hurt it!

Drawing on near demonic rage, Ivan slid off the bed and stomped over. Towering over her, he emanated pure destruction. “You will not hurt it, It is mine! I will flay you one centimetre of skin at a time until you kill yourself from the agony!” he threatened, pinning her to the wall with one hand.

Belarus shrivelled under the soulless stare, dark blue eyes large and watery. Ivan immediately felt like the most despicable sibling ever, recoiling in horror at his own action. “I would never hurt anything of yours big brother. I love you, remember?” she whimpered. Ivan needed help badly, feeling faint. He could feel himself bleeding again in places he shouldn't bleed. He needed food, immense amounts of food, to recover.

His obsessive baby sister was the perfect egg guard, the Russian realized. She was as psychopathic as he just became, but _all the time_. That could really work to his advantage.

“I must share with you a secret, Natalya. You must tell no one. Should you assist, I will reward you with... tickets for both of us to attend the opera hall... together.” Ivan offered, begrudgingly grinding out the awful words. Fear of being killed totally forgotten, the woman perked up with a happy smile. “I will prove my love for you, future husband. We will be the loveliest couple in attendance. Please, tell me this secret!” she complied eagerly, pressing against him in slightly groping fashion.

Shrugging her off easily, he walked to the bed with difficulty. Grateful to sit down, he gestured to the mound of pillows. “In there is my greatest treasure, my heart... my miracle. It needs to be safe and warm, because it is so precious.” he explained, blushing as he thought of his strange offspring.

Belarus raised her brows in surprise, silently waiting for permission to approach. He granted it with a genial gesture of hands. She approached in reverence, then took a few pillows off the top. The woman gasped. “It is... an egg. The biggest I have ever seen!” she uttered, pressing a hand against it delicately. The hand pulled away as if burned. “It is... alive, right?” Belarus inquired skeptically.

Ivan's heart threatened to stop at such an implication. He pressed his ear against the warm shell, concentrating hard. It was so faint, a tiny rapid heart beat within. The barely audible sound brought a large smile to his face. “It... is alive. It's alive. My little miracle unknown to science.” he crooned, so joyful he might burst.

Carefully Natalya press an ear to the shell. She then jumped back, looking mildly scared and confused. “Where did you find this?” she demanded in a steely tone. “It is mine. That is all that matters.” Ivan growled defensively.

The younger sister hesitated, then relaxed her taut form. “Very well. I will guard this strange egg to the death in exchange for a date at the opera. There our destiny will be sealed.” she replied, waxing romantic nonsense again.

“It is not a date.” he corrected tiredly. “After we'll kiss in the light of a full moon. You'll admit your love for me, and we'll start planning the wedding. I was thinking white and violet with pearls...” Belarus trailed on, completely lost to reality again. Ivan put his face in his hands, exasperated. He already knew from experience that the 'wedding planning' speech would last hours.


	5. Chapter 5

It was early June, and the heat was staggering. It would be Independence day for Russians everywhere in just five days. Despite the building revelry of the people tingling in his veins, Ivan Braginsky was scared.

It was six months since he laid that egg. Most of the uncontrollably angry 'mother bear' moments were out of his system after the first month. After that point, he felt safe enough to be with others. His boss finally stopped being scared of him, and let him go back to regular work hours. Everyone assumed another of his psychotic breaks had come and gone like normal.

Through a state of the art monitoring system, Ivan managed four hours at his president's side each day. After that, his overpowering need protect dragged him home. The rest of the day he'd work from his study. His precious gift would be bundled up safe in a sturdy basket. It was always in arms reach so he could compulsively check it's temperature.

Sometimes he just felt the shell, speaking to the thing inside. He sang to it in private, told it stories. In true scientific theory, Ivan recorded the egg's weight every morning. He also measured the heart beats per minute at least three times a day. Sometimes that factor was measured up to six times a day. Ivan's paranoia was strong on days like those.

Natalya ended up being a spotty weekend babysitter, covering the odd day so Ivan could attend vital political meetings. After being rewarded her evening at the opera, the visits were even rarer. This no longer bothered him. Russia was scared something was wrong, but had no one to turn to. His little sister thought he stole the egg, and no one else knew it existed.

Ivan figured the father was obvious. There was only one person Ivan had sexual interest in for the last century or so. There was only one nation allowed to see Ivan naked. There was only one nation stupid enough not to wear a condom, then not even apologize about it after.

Every time Ivan gathered the nerve to call Alfred, he faltered and stopped dialing. What would the ash blond say that didn't sound crazy? Laying eggs wasn't normal. What if it didn't hatch at all? What if it was a grotesque beast? No... no. His little miracle would be sublimely beautiful, Ivan knew. Even if it had two heads, or a tail, he would love it as only a mother could.

This brought into question all sorts of absurd things. What species was the Russian if he laid eggs? Was he a he at all? Was this inane gypsy magic, or a curse? Did Alfred do this to him? Was Alfred an alien? All the weird possibilities gave Ivan a headache. None of this would ever come to conversation if his offspring died prematurely.

So it was that the feared Russian Federation was curled up with an egg, chain smoking cigarettes to calm down. Four days from his own independence day, Ivan compared meticulously tracked weight and heart rate charts for hours. The heart beat was deeper, slower and very regular. That seemed fine.

From the second day since it was laid to now, it had lost nearly half it's weight. It was a paltry 4.3 kilograms now. Just thinking about having laid anything that weighed 8.1 kilograms made Ivan wince. He was lucky his body could regenerate so quickly. Checking the temperature one more time, the tired nation padded downstairs for another cup of strong tea. He needed it to keep up his vigil.

Two days to Independence day, Russia was woken up from light sleep. He checked the egg nervously, then froze. There was weak vibrations from inside. Even better, there was soft sound. With trembling hands, Ivan recorded the new development. Afterwards, he resumed the protective cuddle around the egg.

Gently he whispered “Can you hear me little Sasha? I decided to name you Sasha. It is a very pretty name, for girls or boys. I'm planing our future together, how I'm going to raise you. I'll be so much kinder than I was as the soviet union. I didn't... I didn't know how much I could love, until I gave birth to you. I didn't know how much I could feel, or care for another. You made me whole, changed me. I will do my best to protect you and love you... So please live. Please...”

Ivan cried himself to sleep that night after waiting in vain for more activity, completely exhausted.

It was only three hours until Independence day, and it was sweltering temperatures. Worried the egg would overheat, he was draping a cold damp cloth over the top. He had long since turned off his cell phone, and unplugged his computer. There would be no more distractions until the hatching, no matter what the consequences.

The egg was visibly moving now, and Ivan was a nervous wreck because of it. He paced the room like a caged wolf, caring little about his own state. He couldn't remember when he last slept or ate, and didn't care. The movement increased enough with time that it rolled on the mattress, stopped by a ring of pillows. Hyper focusing on something, he slid onto the bed. The cold cloth had fallen off, revealing a long crack in the shell. It was spanning out like a spiderweb, still quite small.

Excitedly recording the news, Ivan glanced at his wrist watch for a time stamp. It was five minutes into his special independence day, and his young was hatching. It was like a gift of fate and love, with all the planets aligned in his favor. Ivan Braginsky had never been so thankful in his centuries long existence.


	6. Chapter 6

Everyone at the world meeting was equal parts excited and afraid. Russia had been violent and unreasonable, breaking England's arm at the last meeting he attended. After falling into a laughing fit, the Slavic giant of a man just walked out and hadn't been seen by anyone since. That had been ten months ago.

Not only was Russia volunteering to host after such a long absence, he even offered tasty treats. Ivan even hinted at having made a world changing breakthrough. Whether it was in the sciences or humanities was being discussed in the meeting hall. All thirty one nations attending openly admitted the lavish room was quite beautiful, dripping old world artistry and charm.

The trays of homemade cookies and cakes were tentatively approached at first, then casually enjoyed. Only one nation was unhappy, silently counting every tick of his watch. “Russia is late.” Germany muttered, unimpressed. Nearby, Sweden said nothing, but was also tracking the time. “Relax, Germany. This cake is wonderful!” Italy replied, clearly enjoying himself.

Russia entered the room in glamorous fashion, wearing a tailored suit and his ever present scarf. “I apologize comrades, There was interruptions getting here.” he greeted happily, smiling warmly. Between the smile and the child in his arms, people couldn't help but stare.

Standing at the head of the table, Ivan continued to speak. “I will admit I was quite insane the last time I was at an event like this. I trust my own baking is a suitable apology... I bring wonderful news. This little angel is the love of my heart, my ray of sunshine. Everyone, meet my two month old daughter, Sasha.” He gave the child's cheek a little kiss at the end, positively beaming. The pale as snow baby giggled, grabbing her mother's large fingers.

“How the fuck is this possible?” A foul mouth Southern Italy blurted out.

“Am... I high?” Netherlands whispered, looking confused.

“I don't think you are. Unless I am too.” Denmark replied loudly. Norway just shook his head.

“No one here is dumb enough to sleep with you. Just admit that you stole it.” England accused bluntly.

“Normally I would cut off your fingers for such a comment. It seems the rigors of childbirth have calmed my murderous tendencies.” Ivan purred, not ruffled by the verbal assault. It simply wasn't important anymore, not in comparison to the radiant love of his child.

China seemed reviled from hearing this, while Thailand and Japan become much more interested.

“I have no idea how you cooked up a kid, but she sure is cute.” America complimented, not far from Russia's place at the table. “Thank you, America. I'm quite proud of her. She was born on my independence day, like a little miracle.” Ivan explained cheerfully. “Oooh let me hold her, I'll be super good.” Alfred asked, reaching out like a child himself. “Very well. You must support her head though.” Ivan chided, confident the honey blond couldn't fuck things up. He was a natural of sorts for this.

Transferring the infant safely, Ivan sat in his chair. “Feel free to talk now.” Ivan finished, still glowing with joy and pride. “So who's the... um... other half of this?” Alfred asked, as retarded as ever. “Father, and you'll have to guess.” Ivan replied smoothly, thoroughly entertained. The summer blue eyes, wild lick of frosty blonde hair, and cute nose were obvious signs. Greece and France on either side clued in, paling in horror. The rest of the table slowly came to the realization as Alfred studied the baby intensely.

“Hmm. No idea. Super cute though.” the honey blonde concluded, as adorable and oblivious as his own daughter. Handing the baby back, Alfred returned to doodling on his national security papers. He looked up, noticing everyone staring at him. 

“Why does everyone look like they want to throw up? Are the cookies poisoned? Because I ate like ten, and I'd like to know if I'm doing to die of poisoning instead of boredom.” he asked lightly in jest, getting dead silence.

“Are you kidding me you bloody git!? Of all the irresponsible things to do, and to breed with that! You make me ashamed, you twit!” England lectured, seething visible frustration. “Stop hitting me, old man! What did I do?” Alfred protested, shielding his face as he was beaten with a newspaper by his English founder and parent.

Ivan watched the comedic scene with a serene smirk, cradling his baby close as she giggled and cooed in her snowflake patterned onesie. Life was going to a lot more interesting, to be certain.

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you see? Comment or leave a kudos!


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